


If You'll Step in One Moment, Dear, You Shall Behold Yourself

by Absolutefandomtrash



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Beholding Avatar Powers (The Magnus Archives), Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Hilltop Road, Mainly Hurt, Mind Manipulation, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Spiders, Spoilers, Web Avatar Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Web Avatar Powers, Web!Jon truthers unite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:41:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29569773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Absolutefandomtrash/pseuds/Absolutefandomtrash
Summary: Jon decides to enter Hilltop Road and finish what was started when he was a child. The Web is very pleased with this development.Title comes from "The Spider and the Fly" by Mary Howitt
Relationships: Annabelle Cane & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Annabelle Cane, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I WILL POST WARNINGS FOR EACH CHAPTER (if the chapter warrants it) BECAUSE THINGS WILL GET INTENSE
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: dissociation 
> 
> I wrote this last week when 194 was the most recent episode. So it's already canon divergent. But this is a self-indulgent Web!Jon fic, so it amuses me more than anything. Enjoy!

Jon knows this is a stupid idea. He’s not _that_ stupid, only stupid enough to carry through most of the bad ideas that pop into his head. So when he sends Georgie back to the tunnels with the promise to not get himself killed and marches straight up to Annabelle Cain and Martin, he allows one moment to regret every bad decision leading up to this point before focusing on the task at hand.

“Hello Archivist,” Annabelle greets cheerfully. Martin doesn’t look surprised, but shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“Jon-”

“Martin, it’s okay. I’m not here to try to win you back.” Martin blinks a few times. “I just wanted to apologize. And then apologize again.”

“What do you mean-”

“I’m really sorry to interrupt,” she doesn’t sound sorry at all, “but we have some important business to attend to. Isn’t that right, Martin?” Martin looks down, and Jon briefly imagines what she’d look like if he just put her under the Eye’s gaze. No. Focus on the house.

“I shouldn’t be too long. Although it’s hard to tell with these things.” 

“Things being?”

“Jon, whatever you’re thinking, please-”

“Martin.” He tries to sound as gentle as he can. Snapping got them here, snapping will make it worse. “This has been coming for a while. And I think it’s time to just skip ahead to the end so we can finish this.”

Annabelle raises her eyebrows. Shakes her head. Laughs a little.

Martin looks in between them. Frowns. Waits for one of them to explain what he’s missing.

Jon reaches in his jacket pocket. Pulls out the lighter. Holds it out to Annabelle.

Silence.

“You’re joking-”

“Take it-”

“You’re sure?”

They all start at once, then stop at once.

Jon takes a deep breath.

“I’m on borrowed time. I don’t know if the lighter was borrowed, but you should hold it. Might be more useful that way.” She hesitates for a moment, then grabs it with a gloved hand (fingerless gloves, really pretty except for the cobwebs fusing them to her fingers and wrists). Nods. Martin sputters a few times. Jon tries not to smile fondly at it; this isn’t the situation to smile fondly in, this isn’t the time to offend anyone, he wants to make it as not-horrifically-painful-for-everyone as possible.

Finally, Martin asks: “Jon, what the hell are you about to do?” Jon turns to him. Looks him in the eyes and gently holds both of his hands.

“I’m sorry I didn’t really talk things through. Or think them through.” Martin opens his mouth, but he squeezes his hands and quickly continues. “This isn’t because of that! Well, it sort of is, but not because of you. I had time to think about a few things, and I think I know how to sort all of this out.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And you and Annabelle probably do as well. It might be the same, it might not. But whatever happens, it will end better if I go in that house alone.”

“ _Alone_?!”

“Just for a little bit! Even if it isn’t the right thing to do, it-” he swallows down the urge to spit everything out, that amount of information isn’t needed, “it’s the right thing for me. Tie up a few loose ends.” Martin snorts derisively, then holds Jon’s arms. Jon moves closer and cups his face. Tries to memorize all the little details, each freckle, the worm scars, the fine smile lines. The things that make him _Martin_.

“You’re not doing this as some kind of suicide mission because you feel guilty?” Well yes, but that’s not the main reason.

“No. Whatever the Web wants with me, it shouldn’t be out in the open.” _I don’t want you to see it _. Martin nods solemnly, then gives him a soft peck on the lips. Jon pulls him in for a tight hug.__

__“Don’t take too long,” Martin whispers._ _

__“I love you,” Jon whispers back._ _

__When they break their embrace, he looks at Annabelle. She’s staring at him passively._ _

__“Don’t even think about-”_ _

__“I wouldn’t dream of it, Archivist.” She gives a smile that almost looks genuine. He pretends it is, squeezes Martin’s hands one more time, and walks into the house without a second glance._ _

__

__The tape recorder in his backpack whirrs to life about halfway through. Jon pulls it out and sets it on the table._ _

__“You’re a bit early,” he remarks while going back to the drawing. The pen runs out of ink again, and he pulls another one from the neat stack of red and black pens in the top right corner. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Just odd, really. You’re not going to catch much for a bit.” He has to focus, or else this won’t work. The Eye doesn’t want him using its power like this, so it takes more energy to keep his momentum up; breaking focus for too long would mean it won’t be finished, which would mean this fails, which-_ _

__He flips another page, and starts the next drawing._ _

__It’s funny how memory works. Having unlimited access to universal knowledge blurs the line separating where the Knowing begins and where memory ends, but some things are obviously one or the other. Each stroke of the pen, each word, each tiny detail is all memory. Decades are in between his exposure and this recreation, but he might as well have the book in front of him. And the feelings he’s drawing from to infuse into this monstrosity are primarily from himself (because this is for him, this isn’t for anyone else) with those of others acting to strengthen the end result. Jonathan Sims, not the Archivist or Archive, is acting. A relief, funnily enough; he’s spent so long acting under the wishes and commands of other people that free will became little more than a concept. Except now it’s reality again, and there’s no denying it’s _good_._ _

__One last line, and it’s done._ _

__It’s a childish thing, looking like the small flip books every young child learns how to make in school. The papers are stapled together, and his already-terrible handwriting has been reduced to shaky block letters (always had terrible form when holding any writing utensil, by eight years old the teachers had given up trying). But that is the point. It’s supposed to be childish. That’s the insidious part._ _

__Jon sighs. Turns to the very front of the book. Picks up the tape recorder._ _

__“Let’s do this, shall we?” The recorder only whirrs, being inanimate. Much better than the cameras following his every move and watching to see what would come next. He smiles, then looks back down. Takes a breath._ _

___Statement **begins**_ _ _

__“ _A Guest for Mr. Spider_. Read aloud by The Arch- Jonathan Sims, Ar- Jonathan Sims.” He never stumbles over his name or title, but that thought is only fleeting because the statement must be finished once it has begun. _ _

__“Knock knock.”_ _

__Giving statements is always odd. The rest of the world trickles in through a fine strainer, to be ignored until it ends. Nothing in the physical matters, no discomforts, no shouting, nothing. Usually he’s alone, with no one to break him out of the statement-induced dissociation. Martin had to try pretty hard, but he isn’t in the house. It’s not important anyways. The statement is._ _

__At some point the book falls out of his shaking hands. The sound is muffled. He knows it by heart (Knows it, immerses himself in the power he put into it). He moves throughout the house on trembling legs that don’t belong to him. Someone else is moving, he’s reading. Cataloguing. Preparing for the notes to come after the statement has been evaluated to be filed away. Something is wrapping itself around him, thin as gossamer but present enough to briefly put him back into his body. Then the page turns, and it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s pulled in the places that are wrapped. ‘He’ is a concept. An unimportant one. Concepts don’t matter. He’s reading._ _

__A door._ _

__“Mr. Spider wants another guest for dinner.”_ _

__A solid door. A drawn door._ _

__“It is polite to knock.”_ _

__The two doors blur into each other. The drawing is a cutaway to the solid is a cutaway to what’s behind the drawn cutaway door._ _

__“The end.”_ _

__The statement hasn’t ended._ _

__Ending the statement would be impolite. That wouldn’t do.  
A hand raises and makes a fist. How polite. That way the statement will conclude with all the necessary information in one place. _ _

__**KNOCK KNOCK** _ _

__The cutaway is pulled back when the door creaks open and the limp hand drops._ _

__The gossamer is unwrapped._ _

__The statement hasn’t ended, but he is brought into awareness of himself. His hand knocked, he knows that. He finished the book, but nothing came out of the door like it did when it was completed the last time._ _

__A choice._ _

__He can choose to finish the statement._ _

__He can choose to be a guest._ _

__He can choose to leave something _incomplete_ and oh, that would be a wonderful thing to do. How long has it been since he left something unfinished?_ _

__Choice._ _

__Jonathan Sims takes a deep breath._ _

__He drops the tape recorder._ _

__He walks inside._ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Annabelle go to find Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: spiders. Lots of spiders.

When Annabelle says, “ _Oh_ ,” and frowns at the sky, Martin decides he’s going in the house. She doesn’t try to stop him, just follows him inside with a bewildered noise. 

Only when they’re inside does she grab his wrist.

“What, Annabelle?” He doesn’t try to hide the frustration in the snap. To her credit she doesn’t bat an eye at it. Or change her vaguely concerned expression.

“You won’t like what you see.”

“I figured, from the way Jon was talking.” She shakes her head.

“No. You don’t understand. _You won’t like what you see_.” He huffs and pulls against her; the grip on his wrist tightens.

“Annabelle,” he warns. “I’ve put up with your cryptic statements and promises that ‘you’ll see very soon’ and ‘it’s not that simple.’ Tell me in plain English why exactly I won’t like whatever the result of Jon coming in here is.”

Annabelle sighs. “The Archivist has given himself to the Web.” 

_What_

“ _Excuse me, he did what_?” 

“He gave himself to the Web.”

“Can he- is that even possible?”

“Yes.”

“He could just… switch loyalties? At any time?”

“Well, not at any time. Only here.”

“And… only with the Web?” She smiles.

“You’re catching on quickly.”

“Don’t.” Martin sighs and tugs against her; this time she lets him go. “Just- is Jon safe?”

“Perfectly safe from the Eye.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“The Archivist is protected from physical harm.”

“ _Annabelle_.” The spider woman sighs and looks around the room. Martin watches her pupils follow some kind of invisible trail. He hopes it isn’t a spiderweb he’ll walk into as soon as he turns around. Eventually she looks back at him, but the expression on her face isn’t a comforting one.

“He’s vulnerable to outside interference.”

“Meaning?”

“If someone like your friend with the gun,” Martin bristles at the mention of Basira, “were to come in and go to him, she could affect him. Not hurt him,” she chuckles darkly. “The spiders would see to that. Or maybe he would himself.”

Martin doesn’t know whether to tell her she’s sick, or demand more clarity. Her vague answers have given him a headache the entire way here, and he’s near his breaking point; that doesn’t seem to affect her method of giving information, however. So he’ll have to see what kind of transformation process is going on. 

He hopes it isn’t going to involve growing an extra limb or anything like that.

Annabelle must see his decision written on his face, because she smiles at him. “Don’t worry, he’s not in any pain. If anything he’s enjoying himself.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be. Come on.” She brushes past him, head turning in that same pattern. Martin follows. 

A large stack of papers stapled together lies on the floor. He picks it up and immediately regrets that decision; it’s opened to a picture of a rather distressed-looking fly holding flowers, and on the page next to it, in Jon’s untidy scrawl, is the sentence, ‘It’s Mrs. Blue-Bottle. She’s brought you flowers.’

“What the hell is this?” 

Annabelle doesn’t even turn around, just calls, “His pathway. Don’t worry, it was only meant for him. Unlike the real thing.”

“The real- oh God.” He jogs to catch up to her. “This is a copy of a _Leitner_?!”

“Are you really surprised?”

“I-it-he…” Martin sighs. “No.”

“Good. Come on.”

They walk in silence. The hallway has a thin trail of webbing on the walls that get progressively thicker and thicker until they resemble ropes by the time the door to the sitting room opens. He doesn’t want to think about how they’re probable all over the house, so thin the human eye can’t see them. He does anyway.

The sitting room becomes another hall becomes an open door; Martin can see a small opening under the thick mass of webs that decorates the area from floor to ceiling. A few strands dangle limply from it, as if they had been cut from something.

_Or someone_.

Annabelle picks up a tape recorder from the floor and hands it to Martin.

“I’m sure this will have the answers you want. But we should see how the Archivist is doing first. Through this door.” She walks through the opening without a care. The webs recede away. Martin takes a deep breath and follows. The webs stay where they are, thankfully.

The room is dark, but he can make out the shape of a person. Jon. He opens his mouth to call out to him, but then Annabelle turns the light on and all that comes out is a gasp.

Against the wall is a quite limp Jon, head bowed and legs barely holding his weight up. His arms are stretched out cruciform and held in place by the thickest strands of web Martin’s ever seen; he doesn’t look to see where they come from, doesn’t want to see in case the things that made them are just sitting there waiting for the next move. Instead he looks at the web on the wall. It’s middle holds Jon’s lower back in place while the rest of it keeps itself in place. One of his hands has a thin band around each knuckle that attaches to string that merge into one long strand, which has a-

Jesus Christ, the spiders are _everywhere_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin tries to figure out how exactly he should feel about this whole situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The warnings: more spider action, this time paired with eyeball stuff
> 
> Please let me know if you need anything tagged or any warnings you'd like should that specific thing appear in future chapters! I do want to be as thorough as possible with them.

There isn’t hesitation to pressing ‘play’ on the tape recorder. Martin normally doesn’t go for the tapes as a first option- that’s more Jon’s gig; he does, however, want to know what happened to put Jon in this position, and the tapes are apparently the only source of straightforward information.

' _You’re a bit early. I suppose it doesn’t matter. Just a bit odd, really._ '

Martin and Annabelle listen. 

He hates it. He hates hearing the statements, how dead and malleable Jon always sounds. This is worse, since it’s a Leitner seemingly reconstructed from memory ( _how long has he been living with that experience_?) and Jon’s just… _talking_ about random things while making it. Making the thing that put him in his current state. He hates it, hates it, hates it. 

‘ _A Guest for Mr. Spider_.’

Some godforsaken part of him wants to pull out the glorified packet and read along. Make it a storytime. But Annabelle’s holding the packet and he very much does _not_ want to see the pictures inside it. Maybe after the tape is done he can convince her to burn it. Probably not. 

A soft thud and rustle of paper on the ground sounds out from the tape. Jon keeps going like in all the statements in the domains and Martin hates that more. At least reading them kept up the illusion of control. 

Martin looks back at Jon. The hand with the spider has started to twitch in clumsy puppeteering of the spider dangling from it, who’s more than content to just be tossed around ( _but that’s the point isn’t it? You’re more than willing to go where you’re pulled_ ) on its little strands. The rest of him gives the occasional shudder whenever the next victim of Mr. Spider is found and consumed. And small twitches here and there, but that might also be spider-related activity. 

‘ _Mr. Spider is still hungry. It’s polite to knock_.’

Jon stills at the two sharp raps from the tape. Alert. His fingers spread out, and the spider dangling from them moves up its little thread happily. When the recorder clatters to the floor and the tape clicks off he relaxes again, and Martin sighs.

“Wow.” Annabelle nods.

“Indeed.”

“So. What now?”

“We wait for the process to finish.”

“The process to…” _switch sides_ , “Right. Right. And how long will that take exactly?”

“It’s delicate. It takes time to bring someone over under normal circumstances.”

“So how long will it take under this circumstance?”

“It’s a different kind of transformation. Preserving rather than eroding.”

“So you don’t know?”

“Precisely.”

“Just. A while.”

“As long as it needs to.” Martin groans before setting the recorder down.

“You said Jon was vulnerable to outside influence.”

“I did.”

“If I walked up to him, what would happen?”

“Most likely nothing.”

“If I touched him?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“Your intent.”

“Touched him to see if he was actually okay.” Annabelle sighs and looks over to Jon. Narrowing her eyes, she takes a few steps to get closer. Martin hurries over to her side. 

“What are you doing?”

“Answering your question.”

“That doesn’t look like answering my question.”

“But it is. You want to know if he’s aware, yes?”

“That’s not what I-”

“But if he was not aware, you would classify that as ‘not okay.’ Correct?”

“Yes, but-”

“You really want to know if he can still make his own conscious decisions. If this will allow him to retain his own volition.”

“...”

“It’s a valid concern. Seeing as the Web doesn’t allow it’s servants much room for… personal pursuits.”

“You say that like Jon’s different.”

“There are special plans for him.”

“Not comforting.” Annabelle sighs and sticks a hand in her cardigan pocket.

“If I told you he is still himself, you wouldn’t believe me.” She pulls the lighter out. “Perhaps demonstrating it will put your mind at ease.” She looks over at Jon, and Martin’s gaze follows.

The dozens of spiders halt whatever activities they were in the middle of; Jon visibly relaxes into the webs keeping him upright. A few seconds pass, then he shakes his head. Not the harsh twitching he’d been doing, but the soft head shakes he gave back in the tunnels when someone prodded him awake. Martin’s heart jumps from his chest to his throat, and if he didn’t know better he would close the distance between them just to help him _wake up_ from wherever his mind had been. But he doesn’t; he just watches as Jon shakily raises his head to look in their direction and _Christ, when was the last time he’d looked this soft and unguarded?_ He blinks at them blearily, unfocused eyes scanning them for whatever he thinks he needs to see to make sense of what’s going on. 

One spider scuttles across his face. He doesn’t pay it any mind, which _should_ be a problem. If he hadn’t already shown that he’s quite comfortable with their presence, that is. It settles near the corner of his eye, and after a few instinctive blinks Jon slightly widens it and lets the spider-

“ _Fucking hell_ -”

“Hush, Martin. It’s just doing its work.”

Martin bites his tongue and tries to not protest the fact it’s making a web on his boyfriend’s eyeball. Really, he tries. It’s just that aside from the implications of the Watcher’s favorite Avatar getting an eye covered, the invasion of personal space sparks a small amount of secondhand indignation. But, he manages to keep his trap shut and keeps looking at Jon; Jon is still looking at them, albeit more carefully to account for the _bloody spider in his eye_.

Annabelle holds the lighter up and out, and Jon’s gaze immediately snaps to it. His brow furrows slightly into the pout that means he isn’t pleased with something and is trying to put his finger on it, and when Annabelle moves the lighter around his unmolested eye follows it. His mouth parts, but before he tries speaking she beats him to it:

“Don’t worry. Just showing it’s safe. I won’t use it, see?” She slowly and deliberately puts it back in her pocket. He stares at it until it disappears from sight, then looks at her. “Not going to disturb it again.”

Jon cocks his head to the side. Whatever mental barrier preventing him from actually comprehending the pair seems to give, since both his eyes widen; his left hand twitches in a sort of summoning gesture, but Annabelle doesn’t move. He frowns and tries with his right, to the same result. She laughs at his confused frown.

“I’m afraid you aren’t that far along yet. You still have some development to get out of the way first.” He lets out a frustrated huff, and Martin can’t help but chuckle softly because it’s such a _Jon_ reaction and he hasn’t had the chance to have that sort of petty reaction since the mansion.

Jon straightens as the noise, and he immediately locks eyes with Martin and _he has never had that expression before no one has ever looked at Martin like that_ and then Jon’s mouth quirks into a hopeful smile and Martin’s heart swells in his throat and he starts to take a step-

The spider finishes with Jon’s eye, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath as it crawls out and starts on a second one on the outside. His other eye rolls shut, then opens filled with tears and accompanied by a relieved sigh. The rest of the spiders take that as their cue to resume their business and start scuttling over him. Annabelle hums and looks at Martin.

“It’s done.”

“What’s done?”

“His tie to the Eye is severed. He doesn’t need it to survive anymore.”

“So he isn’t the Archivist?”

“He is.”

“Then why-”

“The Eye can’t reach him here. Not with the camera. Whatever remnants happened to slip through were removed.”

“So he’ll still be able to destroy people.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Not like that.” He sighs. “Just- so here Jon is cut off from the Eye. And then those spiders are doing their thing and finished up their spring cleaning or whatever. How much does that affect his relationship with the Eye when he isn’t cut off from it?”

“I can’t say.”

“Of course you can’t.”

“There is no clear path in this, Martin. We can’t predict the future. Only see the possibilities. He will maintain a connection with the Eye, that’s all I know.” 

Martin looks back to Jon, who is staring at a random point in space. Still crying. He walks up to him and slowly reaches to his face; the spiders pause when it gets close but decide he’s okay and go back to their scuttling. Jon’s cheek is warm- almost feverish- and wet, but it feels like Jon and even though he’s obviously not mentally present at all he leans into the touch like Jon ( _always gently sinking into his hand like he didn’t want to lean to quickly or it would disappear_ ) and if he never has to see that envious look from the Panopticon again it might be a manageable situation as long as he’s still _Jon_ and deep down is still _him_ at the end of the day. 

He sighs and lets go. Jon’s head drops back to looking at the floor. Turning back to Annabelle, he asks: “Does this place have tea?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pondering of the nature of webs, in situ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: spiders. This one is a bit of a breather.

All things considered, Annabelle isn’t the worst company to have. 

They make their own tea, generally spend time alone amusing themselves (Martin more often than not is on self-appointed Jon duty), have the occasional civil conversation. Annabelle doesn’t give straight answers half the time, but Martin can be just as vague when he has the mind to. They still talk, though; they exchange small snippets of their lives with the assurance that the other is hiding just as much information as they are.

He wonders if Jon ever feels this way about the other avatars.

Annabelle sometimes joins in keeping an eye on him. Whatever the spiders are doing means more to her than Martin, but they seem to be doing their thing just fine. _She_ gives a small look of envy whenever she thinks Martin isn’t looking. Although what’s so envious about Jon’s position Martin doesn’t know. He should ask, but she probably wouldn’t answer. Not even vaguely. 

He asks anyway.

Surprisingly, she answers.

Not at once, of course. She thinks for a while, then leaves the room; Martin sips his tea and waits. It’s not long before she comes back with the recorder and a new tape. 

“That wasn’t with Jon when he came here.”

“What makes you think I got this from Jon?” She sits down on the ground and gently puts the tape in.

“It-Well-I mean, where else would it come from?”

“You didn’t mind them just running by themselves without needing to change tape out.”

“I… That’s different!”

“How so?”

“Well, it… they didn’t draw attention to that.” Annabelle smirks and hits record.

“That’s the point. Not drawing too much attention.”

“You say that like you put them there.”

“I did.”

“I mean before.”

“Not all of them.”

“ _What_.” Her smirk grows into a grin.

“On the way here? I didn’t make the webs, not really. I just placed them along the way when I went to fetch you.”

Martin’s stomach drops. “No.”

“The Eye isn’t the only one that likes stories.”

“No.”

“And the webs of spiders do need to be flexible. You never know what conditions they have to withstand.”

“ _No_.”

“And he,” she nods towards Jon, “was correct; this has been a long time coming. And what better material for this situation than the one he spun himself?”

Martin shakes his head. She’s lying. She has to be lying. It can’t be true. The tapes have some other reason to be here. They have to. He looks at the recorder, then over to Jon. In between the gossamer-thin strands holding him up are patches of dark, definitely-not-web material. A core made of something else. Holding _something_ else. Because the Web is a manipulative liar that loves using people’s words against them, and Jon has hours of words to be used to wrap him up right where he should be. 

_Martin’s_ voice is on those. Quite a bit of it.

“I put him there.”

“He put himself there.”

“But I’m on the tapes.”

“You are.”

“Any of them being used for,” he motions at Jon, “that?”

“Would the answer make you feel better?”

“Not really.”

“Then don’t think about it.”

“Hard not to.”

“Well, I have an answer that might take your mind off things.”

“What, your backstory?”

“Yes. Jon already knows it, but it’s not for him.”

“Why are you recording, then? Feeding the Web?”

“Of course. Which Jon is a part of.”

“...”

“You can’t expect him to sustain himself on old statements, can you?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Just give your story.” 

Annabelle shrugs again before talking. It’s actually a fairly standard encounter story, all things considered. Sure, she was a bit young, but Martin knows that a good amount of statements are most likely recollections of things that happened when the giver was much younger; hell, live statements sometimes recounted events from years before. As she keeps going, Martin recognizes the study from a statement Jon set him and Sasha on looking into. The janitor and the girl who-

Oh.

Yeah, that explains the hole.

Obviously.

The statement ends, and Annabelle sighs; the recorder keeps going. She waits a few seconds, then turns to Jon and calls: “It’s done.”

A moment passes. Then, Jon’s spider-free hand ( _the left one, this time; which hand had the spider kept switching_ ) opens. It twitches a few times- trying to grip something, maybe- before snapping into a fist.

The recorder clicks off.

“Come on.” Martin takes a few seconds to realize that means ‘ _come with me to Jon_ ’ and quickly gets on his feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting him down. Then getting him to the couch.”

“Wait, why-”

“Because the process is finished, and he can’t stand up by himself yet. Come on.”


End file.
